CINNAMINTA.
"Now that," said Cripps, "is what I call the proper way of doing
things. Arter all, they hathens knows a dale more than we credit 'em."
"Well, Miss Esther," asked Russel, turning to his other listener,
"what do you think about it now?"
"Sir," she replied, with her round cheeks coloured by the excitement
of his tale, and shining in the firelight, "I do not know what the
manners may be among the gentry in such things. But if it had been one
of us, we never could have supped with him."
"You are right," answered Overshute; "so I felt. Starving as I was, I
could not break bread with a man like that, until he should have
cleared himself. He did not seem to be conscious of any dark mistrust
on my part; and that was natural enough, as he did not even know me.
But when I said that I must ride home as fast as I could, he asked me
first to come and have a look at the poor little child. This I could
not well refuse; so I gave my horse to a boy to hold, and followed him
into the warm dry place, and into his own corner. As I passed, and the
people made way for me, I saw that they were genuine gipsies, not mere
English vagabonds. There was no mistaking the clearly-cut features,
and the olive complexions, and the dark eyes, lashed both above and
below. My gruff companion raised a screen, and showed me into his
snuggery.
"It was dimly lit by a queer old lamp of red earthenware, and of Roman
shape. Couches of heather, and a few low stools, and some vessels were
the only furniture; but the place was beautifully clean, and fragrant
with dry fern and herbs. In the furthest corner lay little Tom, with a
woman bending over him. At the sound of our entry she turned to meet
us, and I saw Cinnaminta. Her hair, and eyes, and graceful carriage
were as grand as ever, and her forehead as clear and noble; but her
face had lost the bright puzzle of youth, and the flush of damask
beauty. In a word, that rich mysterious look, which used to thrill so
many hearts, was changed into the glance of fear, and the restless
gaze of anxiety.
"She knew me at once, and asked, with a very poor attempt at
gaiety--'Are you come to have your fortune told, sir?'
"Before I could answer, her husband spoke some words in her own
language, and the 'Princess,' as we used to call her, took my hand in
both of hers, and kissed it, and poured forth her thanks. She had been
so engrossed with her poor sick child that she had not known me on
horseback. Having done so little to deserve her thanks, I was quite
surprised at such gratitude; and it made me fear that she must be now
unaccustomed to kind treatment. I asked how her grandmother was, who
used to sit up so proudly at Cowley, as well as her sister, the little
thing that used to run in and out so. As I spoke of them, she shook
her head and gazed at some long distance, to tell me that they were no
more. I could not remember the rest of her people, except her Uncle
Kershoe, as fine a fellow as ever stole a horse. When I spoke of him,
she laughed as if he were going on as well as ever; and I hoped that
it might be no son of his to whom I had trusted Cantelupe. But of
course I knew that gipsy honour would hold him sacred for the time,
even if he were Bay Middleton. Then I asked her about her own
children, and again she shook her head and said--'Three, all three in
one are now; and that is the one you saved.' With that, while her
husband left the tent, Cinnaminta led me to look at the poor little
fellow in his deep warm sleep. A beautiful little boy it was; a real
Princess might yearn in vain for such a lovely offspring, if only the
stamp of health had been on him. But the glow of airy health and
breezy vigour was not on him; neither will it ever be, so far as one
may judge by skin. Clear, transparent, pearly skin, all whose colour
seems to come from under, instead of over it; the more the wind or the
sun strikes on it, the more its colour evaporates. I fear that poor
Cinnaminta's child will go the way of the younger ones."
"Poor dear! poor dear!" exclaimed the Carrier, rubbing his nose in a
sad slow way. "I can guess what her would be to them. If her loseth
that little un, mind--well then, you will see if her dothn't go arter
un."
"I believe that she will," replied Overshute; "I never saw any one so
wrapped up in another being as she is. As for Joe Smith, her husband,
and the way she treats him, I couldn't--no, I never could put up with
it, even if it were---- But, Miss Esther, why do you look with such a
curious smile at me? Of such matters what can you know? However, there
goes your clock again! Cripps, I shall never get home to-night; and my
mother will think I was poaching. Because I will not send the poachers
to prison, she believes that I must be a poacher myself!"
"Now, verily, your Worship, that bates all I have ever heerd of! How
could a Justice go a-poaching, howsomever he tried his best?"
"Cripps, he might. I believe he might, if he really did his best for
it. However, let that question pass; although it is highly
interesting. I will try, at my leisure, to solve it. But how can I
think of such little things in the middle of great sad ones? It really
made me feel as if I never should laugh again almost, when I saw this
fine unselfish woman controlling herself, and commanding herself, in
the depth of her misery about her child. And when I thought how she
might have got on, if she only had liked education, and that; and to
marry a fellow of Oriel; I assure you, Miss Esther, I began to feel
how women throw away their chances. Of course, I could not hint at
things disloyal--or what shall I call them? Unconjugal, perhaps, is
what I mean; unuxorial, or what it may be. But although I am slow at
seeing things; because I used to think myself too quick, and have made
false charges through it; I really could not help feeling sure that
poor Cinnaminta had made an awkward tally with her husband. However,
that was no concern of mine. She had made her own choice, and must
stick to it. But to think of it made me uncomfortable, and I could not
speak then of what I wished to speak of, but took short leave and rode
away. First, however, I got permission to come over again on the
Friday--yesterday, I mean; and now I will tell you exactly what
happened then."
"Your Worship do tell a tale," said Cripps; "that wonderful, that us
be almost there! They women takes a man, whether or no he wool; and
when they gets tired of un, they puts all the fault on he, they do!
There was a woman as did the washing, over to Squire Pemberton's;
nothing to look at--unless you hadn't seen done-up hair for a
twelve-month, the same as happens to the sailors; and in her
go-roundings of no account, for to catch the notice of a man much. But
that very woman, I'm danged if her didn't----"
"Zacchary, hush!" said Esther; and the Carrier muttered, "Of course,
of course! No chance of fair play wi' un! Well, go on, your Worship."
"I have very little more to tell you, as yet," Overshute answered,
with a smile at both. "You have listened with wonderful patience to
me; and I am surprised at remembering half of what happened to me in a
hurry so. I shall make more allowance for witnesses now, when they get
confused and hesitate. But, as I was going to say, I rode over to
Nettlebed Common, or whatever it is called, in good time yesterday, so
as to have a long quiet talk with Cinnaminta; knowing that if she
would not tell me the truth, she would tell no falsehood. As I rode
along in that fine spring sun, my mind was unusually clear and bright.
I saw to a nicety what questions I ought to put, and how to put them;
and nothing of all the ins and outs of this matter could escape me.
When the sun threw my shadow, as sharp as a die, I could not help
laughing to the open road and the clear long breadth of prospect, at
the narrow stupid thoughts we had been thinking throughout the winter.
In a word, I was sure, as I am of my life, of finding sweet Grace
Oglander, and restoring her father to his fine old health, and
spreading great happiness everywhere; and thus I rode up to the
gipsy-camp--and there was not a shadow or a trace of it!"